Sunday Secrets

I have developed a bit of an obsession with Post Secret. Have you heard of it? A friend of mine, Sarah, loves it and I found out about it from her girlfriend telling me about her love of it a few years back. In any event, what I think started out as an art project by one man, Frank somebody-rather, has turned into this world-wide phenomenon whereby people write their secrets on postcards and mail them to Frank. Each Sunday Frank chooses a few, because he gets thousands each week,  and displays them on Postsecret.com. He also has several books which are filled with the postcards, I have a few.

I love Post Secret for three reasons:

1.Each postcard is like a piece of art and is completely unique. Besides whatever words may be held there, some of the cards are absolutely beautiful.

2. Perhaps the reason why Post Secret has become the phenomenon that it has, reading other people secrets makes me realize I'm not alone. Some of them are silly and I think, why the hell did someone even go to the trouble, and some of them are graphic and shocking and horribly sad, and some of them, well some of them feel like they could have been written by me. Frank tours around college campuses and talks about his journey with Post Secret and audience members are invited to get up and speak their secrets into microphones for the entire audience to see. And from what I hear, it's quite the cathartic experience for many to say aloud the thing that they have been hiding about their lives or about themselves for years in some deep dark crevice of their soul.

3. The third reason that I love Post Secret is because of this; because it inspires courage and bravery within people to be strong in who they are and tell the world the things which may plague them or make them feel alone. It functions as a guise that says even though I may have done this or that, even though these things may have happened to me, I am still here and valuable and worthy of life and of the world. In sharing their secrets or hearing others do so, people are often brought into communion with the world of broken and wounded souls around them. In the act of speaking their truth, salvation is found.

Each week Frank includes emails from people with the postcards and there are always several that say something about how they were inspired or felt not alone when reading someone else's postcard or hearing someone else speak their secret at a live event. And this last reason is why I think Frank and Post Secret are doing God's work really. For those who are not religious, who don't go to church on Sundays or who have very little hope and faith in their life, or for those who do but who are carrying around horrible feelings of guilt or shame or sadness within themselves, Post Secret is a place to go each Sunday that has the ability to help one feel not as alone in the world as they may have all of the days before that Sunday. Should you find yourself with some time to spare this Sunday, check out Post Secret and discover a community of people who are stepping outside of the things that have happened to them or that they have done into a new, more honest, open and courage space. It just may inspire you to in your own way, do the same.


For my Sunday offering, I give you a few choice secrets of my own...

I know my dad loves me, but am afraid he will never get over the disappointment of having a gay daughter and an autistic son. I feel a horrible sense of guilt sometimes that we both unwillingly fucked it up for him.

Nobody in my family knows about my blog... or is allowed to be my friend on Facebook. Seems trivial I know, but for some reason I insist on keeping them at a distance... and not knowing at all who I really am or what I want to do with my life. I think this is some twisted form of self protection so that when I lose them, or they me, it won't hurt so bad this time.

I sucked my thumb WELL into childhood. Ouch.

I worry endlessly that I will never ever be able to get over this crippling fear I have of just jumping into my life's dreams and making them and this happen. That I will die having done nothing of significance, having not managed to make the world any better of a place while I'm here. This is perhaps my biggest fear.

I think if my mom was still alive my life would be completely different. I think I would be a lot more adept at going after what I want in life and would perhaps be much happier in my career. I also think I would have an entirely different career than the one that I currently fantasize about... because her death is I think, what unwillingly pushed me full force onto the path I now walk on in life, the direction I am heading.

I miss laying in the grass, sitting outside in a garden at sunset, and sleeping in a hammock desperately.

I worry sometimes I don't have a very good sense of myself. Because the me I feel like I am and the me people see and react to sometimes feel worlds apart.

Some of the things that secretly bring me momentary joy and utter bliss: the swing ride at the carnival where you feel like you're floating for a few minutes (my superhero power would be to fly, hands down); when small anonymous children chat me up; being on roller skates (but then, that's not really a secret at this point now is it?!); when I know Shumbi is happy as a clam and has had a good day; when Erica or Perry (my Starbucks crushes) smile at me, because they both just have the best damn smiles; when I know some little thing I have said made a difference in somebody's day (is that really obnoxious to say? Probably); and last but not least, writing. Little else in the world brings me more joy than writing because it is here on the blank page, on the glowing computer screen, where my fingers are able to finally say all the things my mouth is too afraid to.

May you find some time on this Sunday to share a hidden piece of yourself with the world or to witness somebody else as they do so and give thanks. Namaste.